Chapter 920: Falling Into the Abyss Requires Only a Bill

Some institutions have calculated that the household savings rate in the Federation is approximately five to eight percent.

In other words, if a worker earns forty credits a month, only two to three credits are saved in the bank; the rest go toward bills and daily expenses.

Of course, they also keep some cash on hand, but it makes up only a small portion of their total income.

The savings rate for middle-class households is only ten to fifteen percent—a figure that is actually quite low.

Aug is a prudent man; he saves about three to four credits per month, amounting to roughly fifty credits a year.

It would take ten years to save five hundred credits, twenty years to save a thousand—assuming his current wage level remains unchanged.

But if you factor in his actual loans and repayment obligations, his money is far from easily accessible.

The Federation offers many types of housing loans: for example, agreements specifying a repayment date with full principal and interest paid in one lump sum.

Others require monthly interest payments, with the principal due in full at maturity.

And there are installment payment plans as well.

But regardless of the type, all demand strict cash flow.

Aug had never imagined that merely having his leg broken would cost half the price of a house; he stared at his wife in disbelief, then quickly relaxed.

“We don’t have to pay this ourselves—the people who attacked us will cover it!”

Seeing his certainty, his wife dropped the subject.

Aug is the family’s financial pillar; he works outside the home and has seen and heard far more than a housewife ever could. She trusts her husband.

The next morning, the doctor returned to ask him again—the night shift doctor had no details on payment arrangements.

Lying in bed, Aug spoke cautiously: “This cost should be paid by those who injured me. You shouldn’t be chasing me!”

The doctor held a different view: “Mr. Aug, this is your matter with those who harmed you—not ours with them.”

“You must settle your debt to the hospital as soon as possible so we can proceed with your treatment.”

“If you cannot pay us, we will have no choice but to pursue legal action to recover these costs!”

Clearly, this was an administrative doctor—his job wasn’t just healing patients, but pushing them into the abyss.

“Nine hundred thirty-four credits and seventy-five cents.”

Aug’s eyes widened, but the doctor didn’t care: “You have three days to raise this money. Otherwise, we’ll discharge you and sue you.”

The doctor then politely bid farewell to Aug and his wife before leaving the ward.

The ward, once lively, grew suddenly quiet.

Most people here had spent vast sums to resolve their medical problems.

Medical care is unquestionably the most hated and feared thing for ordinary people in this era.

Not just this era—future eras too, even more so!

The patient in the next bed coughed and said, “You’d better pray you have health insurance—or commercial insurance.”

Aug’s head buzzed—he’d somehow been saddled with a nine-hundred-credit bill he could never pay.

He glanced at the man beside him: “I… don’t know.”

The man sighed and fell silent. Aug immediately turned to his wife: “Can you call the police—or find some officers nearby?”

His wife seemed to recall something: “When I arrived, some police were outside taking statements.”

Hope flickered in Aug’s eyes: “Get them here!”

His wife ran off. About ten to fifteen minutes later, two officers entered the ward.

They found Aug’s bed and approached.

Aug quickly explained his situation: “I had my leg broken, but the hospital is demanding I pay for the treatment—I can’t afford it.”

“I want the people who hurt me to cover these medical costs!”

The two officers exchanged glances—they’d spent the entire day handling such cases. One smiled and said, “Mr. Aug, the attackers are refugees. I heard the wealthiest among them had only thirty-some cents.”

“They have no money, no assets, no wealth in the Federation. So this cost must be borne by you for now.”

“As for what happens next…” the officer sighed, “I can only say you have virtually no hope of recovering this money from them.”

“After they’re detained, they’ll almost certainly be deported to their home countries—in other words, they can’t pay you a single credit.”

Watching Aug’s frozen expression, the officers felt satisfied. They smiled politely, expressed their regret at being unable to help, and left the room.

Aug began to sweat all over. His painkiller’s effect had worn off again—the stabbing pain returned.

He groaned softly, his mind filled with despair.

But soon, he thought of another solution.

“Go find the union—they organized this protest. They must take responsibility. I got hurt for them…”

Yesterday’s incident had been huge. The union was already considering whether to continue the strike and had dispatched representatives to visit injured workers in the hospital.

Aug, unable to move, hadn’t been notified.

In fact, the union was now downstairs in a room, discussing this very matter with the injured workers.

He paused, then added, “Also, go to the doctor and tell them to give me another shot—I’m in pain again!”

His wife worried about him and opened her mouth to mention the doctor’s warning about dependency from repeated injections—but he cut her off.

“Go now! Do you want me to die here from the pain?”

His wife hurried off to the medical station. As for the doctor—who cared who got the shot?

An extra injection meant extra profit.

While Aug lay in bed, savoring the numbing relief after the injection, a conversation was already underway downstairs.

The union and the injured workers.

Besides union representatives, labor federation officials were also present.

The room was chaotic—everyone was asking questions or voicing demands.

After a long while of noise, they gradually quieted down.

The labor federation representative first thanked them for their role in the protest, praised their impact on Wanli Group, then mentioned they would offer some “rewards.”

“Ten-credit food vouchers, and a semi-automatic scissors sponsored by… a company.”

“Semi-automatic scissors” meant scissors with a spring between the handles, so they snapped back after cutting.

There were also small snacks and other trinkets—all worthless. Each person received items worth roughly thirteen or fourteen credits total.

The most valuable item was the ten-credit food voucher.

Watching these people spout useless promises, workers facing the same medical debt as Aug began asking about their hospital bills.

The labor federation representative winced after listening to their complaints, then raised his hands to quiet them.

“I understand and sympathize with every worker’s plight.”

“The labor federation’s leadership held an emergency meeting on your concerns and has reached a decision—one that is entirely in your favor!”

At these words, the workers’ moods stabilized, even softened, turning hopeful.

They didn’t believe the union or labor federation would abandon them. Some even smiled and asked, “How exactly will you help us pay these medical bills?”

“My arm was broken. They spent over eight hundred credits to fix it, and another two hundred for follow-up care. I have no money left. You must negotiate with the hospital!”

As one spoke, others began “showing off” their own bills.

The worst case was a family member speaking for a patient: over two thousand credits in medical costs, including emergency care and hundreds more for ongoing treatment.

The unfortunate family member spoke as if proud—being treated for thousands in injuries without paying a cent was somehow honorable.

Hearing this, the labor federation representative interrupted sharply: “You’ve misunderstood!”

“The masterminds behind this are Wanli Group and the refugee group that attacked you—not us or anyone else.”

“The labor federation’s leadership has decided to assign a top legal team to represent you free of charge, to sue Wanli Group and the refugees for your medical costs and compensation.”

Everyone stared, as if they hadn’t understood a word. The worker with the broken arm blurted out: “But they’re giving us three days to pay—or they’ll sue us!”

The labor federation representative looked embarrassed: “We’ll negotiate with the hospital for more time.”

The worker’s voice rose: “That’s it?”

“That’s all?”

“We still have to pay the medical bills ourselves?”

“Fuck!”

The room erupted again. The labor federation representative had to calm them: “Brothers! Workers! Calm down!”

“Pay this bill first. Once we sue and recover the money—from Wanli Group and your attackers—we’ll return it to you. Problem solved.”

“We can also arrange talks with banks and courts to extend payment deadlines.”

The labor federation had considered covering these costs—if the amounts weren’t so high.

But after a quick calculation, they found over three hundred workers suffered serious injuries, with the worst cases not even in this hospital.

This was an orthopedic specialty hospital, treating only fractures and similar issues.

The most severe cases were sent to neurology hospitals—some medical bills already reached seven, eight thousand, even over ten thousand credits.

Three hundred people—how much could that cost?

They’d crunched the numbers overnight: to fully rehabilitate everyone, including minor injuries, the labor federation would need to prepare three to five million credits—and possibly more!

Especially for those with severe brain injuries—the costs were insane!

The last presidential election campaign cost only eleven million credits. Now, just helping workers required hundreds of millions?

Worse, they judged that even if they paid, it wouldn’t help—this was a failed strike with massive casualties. People would question the labor federation’s competence in organizing protests!

Better to let “the capitalists pay the price”—fight them on their own turf.

Plus, doctors privately told them that some critically injured patients incurred hundreds of credits in daily medical costs—a bottomless pit.

The labor federation could afford this sum—but no one wanted to take responsibility for it.

No one wanted to sign documents approving the disbursement. If anyone later demanded accountability, the signature would be there—and they’d never escape blame.

So after senior officials discussed it, they simply set up a dedicated team of lawyers to help them claim medical expenses and compensation.

This has always been the most common task of the Labor Union—to provide necessary legal aid to fellow workers in need!

But at this moment, the workers in the room didn’t want legal aid; they wanted real money, they wanted their medical bills paid upfront!

Some of them had collapsed helplessly onto the floor, while others chattered loudly, demanding accountability— the scene erupted into chaos.

Almost everyone here couldn’t afford medical bills, which meant their homes and other assets could legally be auctioned off to repay their hospital debts!

They had once laughed at a fool who refused to pay a seventy-dollar bill, only to see his single-family home—worth five or six thousand—sold for five hundred!

At the request of certain middle-class neighborhoods, even in winter, the grass in front of every house must remain green.

But in winter, the lawn needed replacing nearly every month—and it wasn’t cheap.

Higher-end neighborhoods imposed stricter rules; in ordinary ones, ten cents per square meter sufficed, but in better ones, it was twenty, thirty, even fifty cents per square meter.

Some demanded full-yard coverage; others required only the side facing the street to be uniformly covered—in total, each household paid a substantial monthly fee.

If anyone refused, the neighborhood would fine them according to the signed contract.

One family refused to lay down lawn in winter, arguing it was wasteful to replace it monthly, and kept refusing to pay the seventy-dollar fine—until they were taken to court.

The court sold their five- or six-thousand-dollar home for five hundred, deducted litigation fees and the seventy-dollar fine, then returned the remaining three hundred dollars to them.

In the past, whenever they heard news like this—or similar—they’d burst out laughing. Now, they couldn’t laugh anymore, because it was about to happen to them.

As the noise grew louder, the Labor Union representative slammed the table and shouted, “I’ll give you two suggestions!”

The room fell silent again. He raised one finger. “First, take out a loan—use anything as collateral, even your credit. Just get the money to settle your medical bills.”

“You can borrow from others—friends, family, coworkers, even your fellow workers!”

“Second, go talk to your factory. Try to get them to pay you something. We’ll provide legal aid to argue your injuries qualify as work-related…”

Though it wasn’t a good solution, for people with no other options, it was the last one left.

Aug was only told about this later—he nearly exploded when he heard it!

He still hadn’t finished paying his mortgage—he still owed three hundred dollars.

In other words, even if he mortgaged his house, he’d likely get less than nine hundred!

The thought filled his heart with sorrow.

The next morning, as Ryder parked his car, he saw two men in wheelchairs at the factory gate.

A mocking expression crossed his face as he strode over. “What’s going on?”

Aug’s expression was awkward. “Manager Ryder, we’re applying for work injury compensation.”

Ryder shook his head. “You weren’t injured on the job. It has nothing to do with the company.”

“If you’re trying to extort me or the company, I’ll call the police and sue you.”

“Also, since you left your post without company approval, you’re both fired.”

He turned and walked toward the office building without looking back. Aug followed closely behind. “You have no right to fire me! I’m suing you and the company!”

His face turned red. It was work hours, and many workers were gathering around.

Ryder stopped, turned, and sneered. “Go ahead and sue me right now!”

He walked off without another word, ignoring Aug’s shouts.

The workers around them watched with smug expressions. Soon, more strikers returned.

The protest had clearly ended—they now wanted to return to work. But when they tried to change into uniforms and head to their posts, they were told: they were fired!

They tried rushing into the factory, but were quickly driven out by security—security who were Lans’s men, swinging rubber batons without mercy.

Soon, the crowd scattered. Aug, bruised and swollen, was pushed away from the company yard by his wife.

Just as they sank into utter despair, a reporter approached.

(End of Chapter)